Lovechild
by dark wings alias raat ke rani
Summary: One person... one full game of puzzle. Too many people to hold the pieces but who would summarize them but himself?
1. Mother

Weiß Kreuz and characters belongs to me not.

**Lovechild: Mother**

  
  
Mother was not smiling today. She was crying. We buried father today. He had passed away. His body, stiff and pale, we put inside a wooden casket, in his only tuxedo, and we slipped a white rose-bud into his pocket. 

Mother said he looked very handsome, just like when they got married twelve years ago. I told her I could not remember how he looked like then. I was not yet born. She laughed bitterly and told me, "Look at yourself ten years from now, and you will see him."

I told mother that I loved her, and I loved father too. And she embraced me in her arms while they buried father six feet under. And we put a bouquet of white roses upon his mound. 

  
  
Mother was not smiling today. She was crying. We had buried father long ago, but she still cried for him. She would sit at the piano, looking at his photograph. And then she would imagine that he was still there. I know he was there because I saw father in her mind. And the three of them; father, mother, and me, were dancing like last Christmas party.

I came to her and asked if she wanted to see father again. She said she wanted to, but she still had to take care of me. I was the only one left from her beloved husband. And she would treasure me and put me in her care until I be a person my father used to be.

I asked again if she'd leave when I could take care of myself. She said perhaps someday, someway, she would. But not today, because she said that I would cry when she left. And she didn't want to see me cry. She said let the tears be hers and hers only.

I told her I only wanted to see her smiling again. She looked back at me and shed another tear. And then she pulled me into a deep embrace, while outside the rain was pouring on my father's grave.

  
Mother was not smiling today. She was still crying. A man came the other day and he wanted to take me away. I never knew the man, but I heard mother called him father. He said I was to be his heir.

Grandfather did not approve my parent's marriage. He was a noble man, rich and blue blooded. And father seemed to be a no one for him. I did not understand why wealth was so important to him. Was money everything in this world?

But then he was already old and he was near his death. And he needed an heir, and I was the only one he had. He would not let his resources fell into someone who was not his own flesh and blood. He wanted to take me away, because father had gone. 

I told mother I would go with him so she could meet father. But she slapped my face and the sting burned deep into my flesh. But I was not angry. I only wanted to see her not pretending to be happy anymore. I wanted her to smile sincerely once again. And I wanted to do the impossible possible. I wanted her to see the person she loved most. I wanted her to see father.

  
  
Mother was not crying today. She was smiling. She would meet father this day. She would be very happy. I know.

We went shopping together and we were about to cross the road when I noticed a car was speeding to our direction. Pretending that I didn't see the car I let my leg swing and I crossed the road. Mother stepped forward and she pushed me away from the lane.   
The car hit her and I saw her body flew to the air and it landed on the grey asphalt surface. She was on the brim of her death and I knew she would be leaving soon. But I know mother would be very happy. 

So I walked to her and sat by her side. I could hear the sirens came into higher frequency. I held her head in my arm and looked into her deep eyes. She didn't look hurt at all. And I could see a thin smile on her lips as she said her last words. She said she was glad that I was saved. She was sorry she couldn't help me grow up, but she promised she would look after me from afar with father. 

I told her I would be all right and she could go. Grandfather would take care of me and she needed not to worry. And I kissed her cheek for one last time and she closed her eyes. Her face looked peaceful and her smile curled on her thin lips. I knew it would last for ever.

  
  
I was not smiling today. I was crying. We buried mother today. I killed her.

- ende -

Thanks for reading this very short piece.... If you don't get who the person was, it's Schuldig. My version of Schuldig, of course..... It's the start where his life fell apart. If you read the fragment of My Family, you'll see some points about Schuldig remembering someone called "Lovechild" ... I intended to write straight to the point where that part began... but somehow I wrote this one instead. Yay! 

Oh, I have to say sorry that I have to abandon my ficcies and I just can't write much lately..... I'm on a Praxis now... and I have to put my PC at the office... and there's tons of things to there and I just hardly had time to do what I'm doing now (typing a ficcie in the middle of working as a drafter!!) .... what a lazy bum!!!


	2. Bestfriend

Well, I finally continued Lovechild. I have to say sorry for neglecting this fic for such a looooong time but I just couldn't help it. There's real life to take care about aside from the ever-enticing fanfic world.

Okay, just get straight to the chapter.

… wait, I forgot something …

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz and all of its charas belong to me not. They belong to the respective owners and I simply take them to cherish the imagination in me.

Warning: massive use of Swiss German and German… I write some translation down there… but since I don't have a beta for those, please do tell me if I wrote anything wrong.

* * *

**Lovechild 2: Best Friend**

I did not know how I could fall into that German. Maybe ever since I set my eyes on him, I had already felt that tinge of jealousy melted with awe. I remember the way he was introduced to us in our class, neatly cropped blond hair dropping softly around his thin face, covering two aqua blue eyes upon fair skin. He stood in front of the class, smiling widely, showing two rows of braced teeth with blue rubber to match his eyes, perhaps the only flaw in his appearance, but it made him more human.

The name was as beautiful as his look, Christian Gottfried Liebeskind, a ridiculous but a poetic name. Christian God-peace Lovechild. I wonder what kind of parents would name their child like that. Perhaps his father was a reverend or something. But the name matched his angelic face.

He was not called Chris, because he said in his previous school there were too many Christians. He preferred to go by Friede. Peace. A fine choice for a name. But he was actually far from the word peace itself.

The boy was seated next to me in the class, at the second row. My eyes weren't good enough to see from afar, but I didn't like to wear glasses. We soon had our small chat in whispers for Mrs. Rouge had already started her lessons.

I had to say that I didn't really like studying in this school, a school for boys – completed with a dormitory for all of its students – in the middle out of nowhere in Switzerland. If it were not from my parents' command, he would rather be back in Florida where I used to live before being confined in this so-called elite school. But being a person who was always the best from the beginning I would not want to show my grudges and became the best person in everyone's eyes. I became the student's representative; I was one of the very few straight-A students, a person everybody liked, from the teachers, the other students, and all people who knew me.

Friede also went to this school against his own will. His grandfather was the one who enrolled him in the middle of this semester. He said it was a part of the old man's program to civilize him. I didn't get what he meant, but I didn't ask. It was not my problem. I didn't like anyone to inquire myself too deeply, so I wouldn't do it to anyone else. Was du willst nicht das man dir tut, das fug auch keinem anderen zu (1). It was a golden rule I held ever since I learned German.

Friede ended up to be the fourth person in my room. There were two bunk beds in our room. My other roommates Woodsy, a Spanish whose actual name was Rachel Selva – with ch read as kh and a like u in up, and Pierre Mare – which was read like marey but his friends used to call him Mare like mair – a Bern native occupied the bed on the left hand side. Now I had to share mine with Friede. He had to be satisfied with anything was that was left, like his table was the furthest from the window or that he was forced to get the upper bed on which you wouldn't be able to sit on properly because the ceiling was so low, but he didn't complain. He said his life used to be in worse condition. None of his three roommates would trust him on that; he was a rich boy after all.

Oh, I hadn't told you my name. It was Heinrich Nathanael Guildford. It was usually written as Heinrich N Guildford, so not many people knew my middle name. Friede was one of them. He was as curious as a child on almost everything was. He even asked me how that people got to call me "Schuld". He said it's a strange thing that a person like me could have "guilt" as a nickname. It wasn't my fault that once someone miswrote my name as "guiltford" in front of the class, and I didn't know who started it, people began to call me Guilt and then it soon changed to Schuld, perhaps because German is more commonly used than English in this school is. This school was in German Swiss anyway.

Friede blurted out that one day a girl might come to me and said, "Du bist Schuld dass ich schwanger bin! (2)" which somehow stuck into his mind as funny. I didn't find it funny at all should that really happen someday. But then it was a bit amusing to think about. We hardly see girls anyway, and the idea of making someone pregnant, or rather the processes of making someone pregnant – the sex – was so interesting for fifteen years old like us.

Friede was a happy go lucky persona. He seemed to be free from any pressures. He joined me in the drama club, the only club that my parents actually disapprove from my long list of activities. He soon stole everybody's eyes. He was a good actor and he was especially perfect for women roles.

* * *

In some ways, I saw that Friede didn't actually strive for good grades. I hardly saw him behind books, even before quizzes, but he always got away with good grades, or perhaps I had to say he was suddenly short-listed as one of the school's best. I had to envy him for that, for I had to study hard and did exercises to maintain my place.

"Some people just born with it," he said lazily when I complained that I had to study for our geography quiz the next day while he was lying on his bed, reading a copy of Lolita. He continued again, "Maybe one day I would hit my head and it's gone. Wär weiss (3)?" he said his German layered with Bern dialect that he learned from Mare.

"Vilech (4)," I answered back, noting to myself not to be provoked by his words to actually knock his head to the wall.

He put down his book, jumped down the bed and walked toward me. He peeked through my shoulder and glanced at my notes. "Are you sure you have to learn about your own country?" he asked absentmindedly. Tomorrow's quiz would be about the continent of America.

"Surely America – the continent – does not contain only the States," I replied coldly. This boy could really get on your nerve sometimes.

He chuckled, "I geh' für ä Kaffee. Vilech seh' ich o e hübschi Frou." (5)

And then he went away leaving me with my study.

I didn't know much about Friede except that his father had died two years ago and then his mother followed a year later. He was born in Bamberg, but then moved out to Wuppertal until he reached nine, and then moved back to Bamberg. He moved to live with his grandfather in München right after his mother died at the age of twelve. How his parents died, he never told. He also never told what his grandfather's business was, but I knew that he was damned rich.

It didn't take long for me to learn about that. When we were to leave for our Christmas break, his grandfather came to pick him up, and I saw that many of the parents knew him, especially those from South Germany. Even Mr. and Mrs. Mare knew him. He was a very old man with humped back, but there was something that you cannot resist when you set your eyes upon him. I think Friede own the same trait.

My parents also came to pick me up, where my father learned to know Friede. It surprised me that for once in my life I saw two people who did not bend their sights to stand face to face with my father. The first one was Mr. Liebeskind, the other one was Friede. Even I sometimes could not stand to talk to my father without averting my eyes. My father liked Friede the first time that he began to talk to him. He couldn't stop talking about him ever since, he always liked strong persons, and he wanted me to be one.

* * *

I came back from Florida with a burden of abhorrence. I hated to be taken away from the sunlight, I hated to have to go back to that school, I hated to see Friede. My jealousy towards him had turned into some kind of hatred. I hated him for just being him. I hated him for being a person I could not. I hated him that he didn't notice my feeling of annoyance when he was talking to my parents again as they met him in our room. Only that time the grandfather was not present. Not long after I heard that the grandfather had died around New Year from a heart attack, and I hated him for not telling me.

He didn't show any signs of regret for the old man. He lightly said that he barely knew him. Even if my parents died, I might feel some loss no matter how I hated them. I couldn't understand him. But he said, a person who had never known him personally would never set any attachment, so either the person existed or not didn't really mean anything to him.

Test came and then followed by its results. I was surprised, even though I knew I shouldn't, that Friede beat me in the marks. He excelled in sport and music. Two things that actually were not so important for my achievement in my parents' eyes, but they seemed to mean so much for me. I didn't tell him that I was so upset that I didn't want to spend our semester holiday with Mare, Woodsy, and him – something that we had long planned. I simply decided not to make a fuss out of it and joined them to Tenerife where Woodsy's parents owned a villa.

But as soon as we came to the island things just evaporated and we enjoyed ourselves. We played on the strands and dig out some chicks. I could speak Tenerife dialects better than Mare and Friede because it was more or less similar to Mexican Spanish. Off course Woodsy spoke better than me, his mother was raised on the island, even though he was born and raised in Gijón.

We threw a party in the villa. There were a lot of people, mostly older than us; people we got to know in our two weeks stay, university students from anywhere in Europe, some local teenagers we got to hang out with at the beach, simply anyone who asked to come. We had some alcohols, those with legal age bought them for the party. We had also some hash. I didn't know who brought them, but I could smell it clearly in the air.

It was then that I found my way into Woodsy's father's office. He had one there and it was a place that we had never trod to in this house. Woodsy never cared to go there anyway. He didn't really like to know his father's business. I walked there because I wanted to get some piece for a while. I didn't really like to listen to club music for a long time. And it was worsened by the effect of alcohol that started to cloud my brain, beside; I would like to see Mr. Selva's book collection. I didn't know how the thought about books still came to my mind then. Maybe I really was drunk.

I was running through the titles of the books when my eyes rested on an antique box on the desk. Out of curiosity, I walked to the box and my hand walked its way to the key. The key felt cold on my fingers. Slowly I turned it and opened the lid. There was a gun and several bullets inside. My hand reached and took the gun from its box. It was a very beautiful gun and it was not automatic. It was silver in color and it was clean. I thought it was never used, but I might be wrong.

I took one bullet and load it into the gun. I clicked the safety and pretended I wanted to shoot something. It felt cool. And then I put it to my head. There was a strange sensation when the cold metal came into contact with my skin. So this is how it feels when you put a gun to you head, I told myself.

Suicide. That word never entered my mind until I lowered the gun again and looked at it cradled safely in my hand. Would dead be better than living? I heard from the priest in the church where I used to go as a child that people who took their own lives would never see the white tunnel when they die, but I wasn't much as a believer. I thought the idea of God was something ridiculous, although I couldn't find the idea of the world's creation from the science class enough to fill in my question of why people should ever existed.

Suddenly the door creaked open. I hurried to put the gun inside the box again. I was afraid that it was Woodsy, but it turned out to be Friede. His face was a bit red from alcohol.

"I know I would find you here," he said. From his voice, I could tell that he was a bit drunk. He came inside the room, closed the door and strode toward me. "Was hast du da?(6)" he asked, probably too lazy to use English with me. He took his breath close when he saw the gun.

"Funny that something so small could take people's life away," I said as I picked one bullet and showed it to him. I put it down again and then took the gun again. I noticed that I hadn't put the safety back on. "Ever thought about taking someone's life away?" I asked him as I handed him the gun and he took it without question.

"I did," he said bitterly as he eyed the gun closely.

"Who?"

"Mutti. (7)"

"You're kidding me!" I laughed, a loud alcohol induced laugh.

He shook his head.

"Did you hate her so much?" I asked, I suddenly felt that we were on the same side of hating our parents. "I hate my mother. She was always too busy with dad's political campaign."

"I didn't hate my mother," he said calmly though there was a bit of emotion when he said that, "In fact I loved her and I still do."

I snatch the gun back, "You don't wish someone died when you love them!"

I didn't know why I was shouting to him but I did. I weighed the gun in my hand, and wondered how light it felt to take it back to my head.

"As a matter a fact, I did," he said quietly.

I looked at him in disbelief. "You know," I said without caring to take some breath, "I hate you, you know? I hate you for being such a perfect person. I hate you for taking my rank, I hate you for taking my father's love away, I hate you for existing!"

My breath was a bit faster when I finished my sentence. I was surprised that it suddenly came out from my mouth, the thought that had been corrupting my mind for the past few months. I looked at him, ready be shouted back, but he just sighed.

"I know," he said in some concerned way, "But you never wanted me to know, yet."

I averted my sight from him to the gun in my hand. For that moment, all I wanted to do was to take the gun to him and erased him from existence. I took the gun up and pointed it at him.

"I really hate you," I said again. I hated him that he knew my deepest thought. I wanted to be perfect, and a perfect person did not hate anyone. He must be a cheerful and be liked by anyone. Hating someone was a failure. "I merely hate you for existing in my world."

He came closer and put his head on the mouth of the gun.

"Go on," he said, "If it makes you better."

"Don't fool me!" I screamed. If I pulled the trigger on him, I would go to jail, and my father's career would fall from the affair and he would hate me for that. I couldn't be an imperfect child in his eyes. I had to be perfect as long as I lived. I had to be perfect in front of everybody.

His hands came up to the gun and he slowly took it from my hand. I didn't refuse. I let him took the weapon. At first, I thought he was going to keep it back in the box, but instead he took the gun to my head. There was something in his eyes that I couldn't understand. It was a mix of concern and confusion.

"You were thinking of death," he said, "But you didn't dare to commit suicide because it would make your perfection flawed."

"How?" I gasped. How did he know all that?

"If you really wanted to die, I could make it for you, and you would always be perfect in their eyes. And you would be perfect in my eyes. Only the brave dares to choose his death. I'm not as perfect as you think I am."

Did it mean that he also wanted to die?

"Shoot me," I said after a few moments of thought.

"Do you really want to die?" he asked again.

Death. Escapism from all these ridiculous efforts to be such perfection. I nodded. It would be nice. I would die in his hand. I would not be thought as a fool to take my own life, and Friede would not be the perfect person again in the eyes of all people who knew me. That would be better. That would be a better choice to choose. And I would be a person who dared to choose for my own life for at least once in my life. That would be good. That would be a perfect ending.

He looked at me deeply before I heard a loud bang and my eyes got blurry. I felt both light and heavy at the same time and I felt him catching my limped body. Perhaps for once in my life I felt that someone accepted me for what I was, this defective being. I felt sorry for him for what I had done to him and I suddenly regretted that I died. Maybe Friede was the one who really wanted to die.

**-end of chapter 2-

* * *

**

Translation hints:

(1) "Do onto others as you would have them do to you". It's not an exact translation, it's actually something like "Whatever you don't want others do to you, do it also to nobody", but I was not so sure how to translate fügen.

(2) "It's your fault that I'm pregnant" it's a sentence that was said over and over again by a friend of mine during my stay in Germany, it was the way she remembered the confusing German grammar on sentences with daß. It really worked. Me and my friends used to think that the correct form was, "Du bist Schuldig, daß ich schwanger bin." But then a friend of ours, a German native, said that it's supposed to be "Schuld" and not "Schuldig" …

(3) "Wär weiss wer weiss who knows?" a Bern dialect I took from reading Oasen für Herzogenbuchsee by Guy Krneta. I won't be able to understand the short story if it wasn't for the translation to Hochdeutsch.

(4) Vilech vielleicht maybe

(5) "I geh' für ä Kaffee. Vilech seh' ich o e hübschi Frou." "Ich gehe für einen Kafee. Vielleicht sehe ich auch eine hübsche Frau" "I'm going for a coffee. Maybe I'll see also a girl (maybe I'll date a girl/get to know a girl)." Also, a dialect I tried to make out.

(6) "What do you have there?"

(7) mother

Well, what do you think? I don't know if you're puzzled with all the names, especially if you have read My Family where I vaguely told about Lovechild/Liebeskind or in After Tomorrow where I mentioned the name Nathanael. Who is who? You will find it in the next chapters.

Oh, you don't have to read the other ficcies, there's nothing really realated to this there.

Okay, now the review button is just somewhere down there. I'd be soooo happy.


	3. The Patient

Well, I finally continued Lovechild with two chaps in a row. I finished this one even before I managed to upload the second chapter. Now I'm so hot on writing the fourth, but I have to take a shower and get to somewhere…. Need to get a job.

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz and all of its charas belong to me not. They belong to the respective owners and I simply take them to cherish the imagination in me.

* * *

**Lovechild 3: The Patient **

The door to my office opened and entered Anna, the nurse who helped my works, followed by two other people, a teenage boy with short blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, and an older man. The man was dressed well with suit and silk tie. He was about my age. His hair was neatly cropped and he wore frameless glasses. He smiled at me and I rose from my seat to greet him.

"Tomi," I said, "It's been a while."

The man extended his hand to shake mine, as his smile grew wider.

"Uli," he said cheerfully, "How long has it been? Five? Six years?"

"It's good to see you," I said as I gestured the two to have a seat at my desk. I told Anna that she could leave. The blond nurse smiled and left the room.

Thomas Sauer didn't look much different compared to how he was back then. He didn't look even older than how I remembered him on our graduation day. We were in the same university. He was studying management while I was taking my major in psychology. We entered the university on the same year and finished it at the same time.

My eyes turned to the teenager. For a moment, I was caught by a couple of turquoise on his face. He looked impassive. It seemed that he didn't have a care about what happened around him. Even our cheerful reunion didn't seem to affect him.

He must be the child Tomi talked about over the phone several days ago. He said that he needed to put someone under my care. He sent me the boy's files. I have seen into the files although I hadn't given it a thorough study.

Christian Gottfried Liebeskind, born as Christian Gottfried, age 15 years old, going on sixteen. His father died when the boy was 11 because of stroke. His mother died not long after, saving the boy from a car accident. He was then taken under his grandfather's care, Jürgen Liebeskind, a millionaire who owned several department stores, shipping company, and a vast estate. The grandfather died about a year ago, leaving the fortune into the young teenager. Tomi was old Mr. Liebeskind right hand man and he acted also as the younger's guardian.

From what I have read in the report, the boy could be considered to be brilliant, perhaps almost genius. He was a straight-A student in every subject he was in at school. He even got the honorable mention for being the best student at school. The boy, who was sitting calmly before me now, was suspected having some sort of mental disturbance. A couple of months ago he killed one of his schoolmate, Heinrich Nathanael Guildford, students' representative at the school council and member of several activities in that exclusive dormitory school. Apparently, the victim was also his best friend. The two boys, according to other students, were very close and often seen together. They were also in the same drama club.

It was said that they, the two boys and their other two room-mates, were on a holiday in Tenerife, and they were making a party when a shotgun was heard and all the people rushed to the study where they found Liebeskind holding Guildford's body in his hands.

It was said that when they found the two, the boy looked impassive although he was crying. The strange thing was that ever since that day he never heeded anyone who called him Friede, the way he was usually called at school. He would say that his name was Schuld, as how the victim was often called. This might be a case where the patient was shocked that he subconsciously differed himself into another person. The boy never came to his best friend's funeral because he was confined in jail. If he had come there, he might be able to accept the fact that the boy he pretended to be had already been dead.

"Well," Tomi sighed, "Dr. Elmer," he said, turning formal all of a sudden and called me with my surname instead of my nickname, "This is the boy I told you about over the phone the other day." He turned to the boy and said, "Say hello to Dr. Elmer, Christian."

The boy merely rolled his eyes from Tomi to me.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he said suddenly, "Why do I have to see a doctor? And please don't call me Christian. I'm not Christian."

"Nobody says that there's something wrong with you," I put in, thinking that perhaps I could persuade the boy to stay, "I am here to proof that there's nothing wrong with you as the others suspect. OK?"

The boy diverted gaze from mine.

"I am not Christian," he insisted.

"All right," I said, "Then what's your name? I have to know so I could call you properly."

The eyes of the boy before me lighted up.

"Henry Guildford. But people call me Schuld," he said confidently as he offered me a handshake.

* * *

This boy, Schuld, filled my days. He was a very nice and polite young man, because he refused to be regarded as merely a teenager. And he was sure bright. We had a lot of conversation, especially about what he had gone through. According to his side of the story, Friede was a best friend with whom he shared everything. Surely there was times when he felt jealous that Friede excelled him in some things, but he admittedly say that he was fond of that boy, especially the way he could understand other people.

For him, Friede was the one who died. He said that Friede found a gun in Woodsy's – their friend Rachel Selva, whose parents own the villa where this all had happened – father's study and then he committed suicide.

When I asked if he knew why Friede wanted to die, he said that Friede was tired to hear things. I asked him what kind of things this Friede had heard and he explained that his best friend could hear voices from people, and he said it stressed him out. He told me that Friede killed his mother because he knew that his mother missed her dead husband so much that he would given up everything just to make her smile again. He also said that Friede killed his grandfather too because the old man was in grief that he never told his only daughter that he was sorry for turning her away from the household. Of how Friede killed them, he refused to tell.

He occupied one room at the west wings, and he made friends with other patients, no matter how crazy they were. He seemed to understand them very well, and could even help the nurses and doctors. At one time, he explained that one of our long-time patients, Mr. Felder, who refused to talk for the past ten years, only wished to go back to the West Indies and live under the tall palm trees. Right after he said that to the nurses and Dr. Raupe, who were checking on the old man, he started to cry, a show of emotion he never showed to anyone. He said that the man was so sad that the country in which he had lived had long perished after a revolution right after the World War II ended, and he could never go back there no matter what.

The next time the boy managed to approach Miss Rosenmohn, a thirty something multi-personality patient, and talked to the real Miss Rosenmohn, which hardly ever emerged to the surface. I was going to check on him when I saw them talking under the willow tree next to the pond. The one we used to see in her was Marry-Anne, a childlike persona, or Lucy, a fiercer and brutal teenager version of her. Nevertheless, the one I saw that day was Miss Rosenmohn who talked in a shy and nervous voice. She talked to him that she liked the pond because she could see the reflection in the water and realized that she still existed. At that point, I noticed that Friede, or rather Schuld, never bother to look in the mirror.

Surely there mirrors in the bathroom, in his bathroom also, but after that day on I noticed that he always averted his eyes from it. Once I decided to ask him about the mirror and why he never bothered to look into it, even when he was combing his hair or fixing his clothes. He took his eyes away from me and did not answer my question. I decided I didn't want to push him far about it, but I decided to bring the question to him sometime later.

A few days after I decided to ask the question again. I did it as we were sitting by the pond, under the swaying willow leaves. It was a hot summer afternoon as we talked there. We had some ice cream with us. He liked ice cream, choc-cherry flavored, but today we had vanilla instead.

I told him that the pond was a nice spot in this asylum. I said, "Look down there and you will see a whole different world," without really making senses at all, "There's sky inside water," I pointed again, this time I pulled my face to the water.

He laughed, not a laugh that meant to laugh as if what I said was ridiculous, but rather a laugh that he also found the thing amusing.

"There's another dimension inside this pond," I said again, this time beckoning him to look closer as well. He looked hesitated, but then he lay on his stomach and with an unsure face, looked inside the pool. His eyes fixed on the reflection of the bright blue sky, which looked rather vivid, compared to our dull reflections because we were under the shadow of the willow tree.

"It's nice to see the water played on the sky and it made it looks like it flows," I said again, encouraging him not to leave the spot, "See," I pointed as a carp swam by, making the sky inside the pond curled and bent.

He nodded. He seemed to enjoy the reflection of the sky.

"And everything that is, are also inside this world," I said again, carefully not to use the word "reflection" in front of him, afraid that he might withdraw from his place.

"The clouds up there are also inside," I said again, and noticing that his eyes followed the places I pointed with my finger, I took a sharp breath and continued, "And also there's the willow and you."

His eyes moved from the willow leaves inside to his own reflection. He gasped and suddenly retreated to the willow tree and sat there, shivering.

"I didn't kill him," he said, trembling, arms around his knees, "He wanted to die. He wanted to die so I pulled the trigger for him because he didn't dare to. But I didn't kill him."

"Who you didn't kill?" I asked slowly as I approached him and kneeled beside him. I held my hands on the ground, not yet wanted to extend them to calm him.

"He wanted to die. He wanted a perfect ending and I pulled it for him," he said again, half sobbing, as he rock his body back and forth. "But in the end he said he regretted to die. He wanted to live. He told me I would be better off dead and he was the one who was supposed to live."

He curled himself even tighter.

I decided to hear his rambling, so I didn't say anything, but I came closer to him and wrapped my arms around his lean shoulders.

"If it was a good ending, he would not be dragged to jail, and he would not have to stay in an asylum. I'm the one who deserve all that. He didn't deserve anything for a crime he never did."

It dawned on him that the boy I was holding was Friede. All the confidence I felt whenever I talked to the one who called himself Schuld was gone and in my hand curled a fragile person I had never learned to know. He gave up showing himself after the third month of his stay here, all thanks to the idea that Miss Rosenmohn gave me when she talked to the boy.

He cried himself to sleep in my hands and then I carried him to his room. I never realized that he was so thin until I lifted him up and felt that he was a little underweight. Funny that I found myself caressing him as he slept soundly in his bed. I developed an attachment toward my own patient, something that was wrong but felt so right at that moment, and now I realized that I had fallen into his beauty.

* * *

By the time he opened his eyes he suddenly became hysterical. He said something about too many voices at the same time. His blabber was a mix of English, Dutch, German, and French. He was calmed down with some tranquilizer. He lay there, on his bed, awakened but not really aware of anything around him, including me.

I reduced the dose of his tranquilizer shot little by little until a certain limit that we could communicate. I didn't dare to go further, afraid that he might become hysterical again.

"Hallo," I said, "Do you recognize me?"

He closed his eyes, too tired to force himself to nod.

"Do you still hear voices?" I asked. I always tried to show all my patients that I understood and trusted them no matter how ridiculous they said it.

He closed his eyes again. "They're far away," he said in a hushed voice.

"You are Friede, I assume?"

He smiled wearily.

"And you are worried," he said as if "worried" was my name.

I gave a nod.

"You are my patient," I said, "I worry about all of them."

"Friede," I asked again, "Do you know why you are here?"

He gave a small nod this time and said, "They realized I hear voices. Isn't it?" he asked back, but then he said again, "No, no…" his voiced trailed off before he took a deep breath and said again, "Because he tried to live within me."

"Who tried to live within you?" I asked.

He averted his eyes and kept quiet for a couple of moment before he turned his face back toward me and whispered, "Schuld regretted he died."

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"He told me before he died. I heard him."

He paused.

"Look, I don't want to talk about this. I'm sleepy."

"Fine," I said then, "I'll be back later to check on you."

"Can I call you Uli?" he asked suddenly as I reached the door.

I said that he could call me by any name he liked.

He gave me yet another smile and then he closed his eyes. Perhaps the tranquilizer was still too strong to keep him awake.

* * *

I was just sitting at my table to read reports from the nurses when someone knocked the door to my office. I looked up from my table and said, "Come in."

Dr. Raupe came to my room followed by Tomi and another person I never saw. The man was around twenties with shortly trimmed black hair and a pair of oval frameless glasses. He could be someone from the Liebeskind enterprise or something, I thought to myself.

Tomi gave me a smile and I smiled back at him. We exchanged our hellos and told them to take a seat. It surprised me that Dr. Raupe also took a seat for himself. I thought he was only taking the guests to my office.

"Uli," Tomi said as he regarded to the fine young man beside him, "This is Brad Crawford. He is one of our partners." He didn't tell what kind of partnership though he brought that certain partner with him to this asylum.

I shook his hand and was surprised that he shared the same kind of confidence that Friede, or rather Schuld, showed when I first met him. We exchanged our "How do you do?" out of mere politeness. I didn't like him in instance. To me he ruined the memory of meeting the Schuld in Friede.

"I heard that Christian had already found himself back," Tomi said. I saw that Dr. Raupe nodded his head.

"Yes," I said, "I sent you an e-mail regarding that. Do you wish to see him?" I asked, "But I'm afraid he is sleeping as we speak."

I look sideways toward the Crawford person.

"It's OK," Tomi said, "You can say anything in front of him."

I took a deep breath before I continued, "I still put him under tranquilizer because he might break out and become hysterical. He said he hear voices."

I saw that Dr. Raupe nodded again while Tomi gave out a meaningful smile. The Crawford was still impassive. I could not read him.

"I decided to move him from your hand to Dr. Raupe's," Tomi said again.

I stared at him in disbelief, "What?" I asked as if I couldn't hear him right. Just as I started to get into my patient, he had to be moved under someone else's care.

"Dr. Raupe is more experienced in this matter," Tomi said again. He then gave an apologetic smile. Maybe he saw my disappointment.

"Look, Uli, I didn't mean to disregard your ability," he said again, "But I want the boy to get the best he could get, and Dr. Raupe is one."

I stole a glance at the doctor. He was my senior, and he had ten years of experience before me. I couldn't deny that he had handled many kinds of patients, but I was mad that my own colleague would take away a patient that I myself capable of handling. That was not fair.

"I have arranged it with the hospital's management," Tomi said again as he looked sideways at Crawford, as if this Crawford was the one who took care of that problem, "You don't have to worry about Christian anymore."

* * *

So the deal was made. The boy was moved out to a bungalow a bit separated from the main building where most people lived and I wasn't responsible for the boy anymore but I still visited him from time to time out of our friendship that had grown for the last three months. He was still under tranquilizer then, although in lesser amount, and I was not allowed to see on his files. Even patients' files were classified safe from the patient's own doctor and family. I knew, though, from Friede, that the man called Crawford came occasionally to Friede's chamber, but not Tomi.

I asked Friede what that Crawford had done during his stay here and he replied that the man merely stood by the bed and looked at him. But he said that the man was silent, and he said that the only time that man spoke was to say that he could tell him how to hide himself away from all those voices.

"I didn't hear voices when Schuld lived through me," Friede said, "Maybe I should just go back there. And I wish that he were still alive."

"He does live," I said, "Here."

I pointed to his chest.

"And here."

I pointed to his head.

"And so do your parents," he said with a vague smile as he lifted his hand which seemed like a big effort for him to my chest.

"Maybe I should stay by the name Schuld," he said.

"Why?" I asked him.

"Do you want to know why I called myself Friede?" he answered back with a question.

"No," I said, "Why?"

"Friede, Gottfried was the name of my father, and I used it for the memory of my parents."

"I see."

"And I might put up Schuld for later use," he gave a chuckle.

"But you are not him," I said, trying to make sure that he was not anymore confused with his own identity.

"I know."

I looked at him. Unconsciously I pulled my hand and started to stroke his hair.

"Schuldig would be a good name though, because I'm guilty anyway…" he trailed off and turned his eyes away from mine to the dotted acoustic panel on the ceiling.

"That Crawford thought that I introduced myself as Schuldig."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I guess he mistook what I said then."

I gave a laugh, induced by his chuckles. I guess I understood what he meant.

"Does your new name make you happy?" I asked him.

"I guess so," he said again as he heaved a sigh, "It reminds me not to fall into voices again."

"So you still hear those voices?"

He gave a nod.

"I'm surprised you didn't wince if I say so. You don't even think I'm crazy," he said, "That man Crawford didn't as well."

"Do you like him?" I ask, trying as best as I could not to show my unexplainable dislike toward the man.

"In some ways," he said, "You don't like him, don't you, Uli?"

I shook my head.

"Do you hear it from me?" I asked.

He nodded.

"And you're not afraid?" he said.

I shook my head.

He smiled. "Thank you."

A creak at the door made me turned toward the source of the voice. Dr. Raupe came with Crawford trailing behind him.

"I have to go now," I said to Friede. I raise myself.

He waved his hand.

"I'll see you around, Friede," I said as I made myself to the door.

"I am Schuldig now," he said with a chuckle.

He said it as I passed in front of Crawford. I stole a glance at him and his puzzled look, he didn't understand the joke we made over him, and I couldn't help laughing as I walked out the door. I heard Friede, or rather called Schuldig now, was laughing as I strode to the main building.

**- end of chapter 3 -

* * *

**

If you want to know what was so funny about the notion that Schuldig told Dr. Elmer, just wait for it in the next chapter, I want to put in Crawford's POV, finally! I never imagined I would write that someone actually laughed on Crawford aside of Schu, but the idea of this nice doctor to laugh on Crawford was so amusing that I couldn't put it off.

Oh, and actually all the conversations done here were in German… I definitely could not build all those in proper German, and it would be too bothersome for you to read through the translations.


	4. The Boy Who Hears Voices

Warning: massive use of German… it's because when it's written in German, in the story it was really spoken in German. I made the translation and I put it down below, under the ficcie, just to make sure that you read it all….

Not mine and probably will never be…

words- means it's thought...

* * *

**Lovechild 4: The Boy Who Hears Voices**

I looked at my watch; the train I was riding would be in Vaduz in about twenty minutes. I took a glance over a file projected on the screen of my laptop and studied a face of a teenager with blond hair draping around his face with a pair of aqua blue eyes. I tore my sight away from the beauty of the face and studied again the writing below it.

Christian Gottfried Liebeskind, born Christian Gottfried. I carved the name on my brain, and also all of his data down to the details.

Age: fifteen.

Suspected power: telepathy or empathy.

Name of reporter: Dr. Rainer Raupe and Thomas Sauer.

Then followed by certain data that supported the evidence.

Followed by health information, that showed that the boy was born premature at the eighth month and two days, and was threatened to die because of fever that seized him on his fifth day. His teeth had been braced for two years and he just took them off last Christmas. He was hospitalized for appendicitis on the age of ten and his hand was fractured about a year ago for attempting to jump from the third floor of his school building a year after merely because of a truth or dare game at school. Now he was hospitalized in a soul asylum in a village near Vaduz, Liechtenstein.

There were also his school records. He was almost a perfect student in marks, almost, if it was not because of his attitude. There were reports that he went fighting with his friends or attempting crazy stuffs. But his last school report was very nice. Short listed as the best student of the semester. If it was not because of the murder he did, he might have had the title.

It was followed by his legal files. The first one was about his adoption by his own grandfather from his mother's side and the adding of "Liebeskind" as his surname. The second was filed only a few months ago. The boy had shot his own friend on the head, and now he acted to be dead friend.

Interesting.

And then it was followed by details of his childhood. What his parents did for living, where he took his studies, who were his childhood friends, down to what kind of ice cream that he ate, what brand of candies, or shoes, or candies, or clothes.

I wondered if Eszet also owned a data similar to this, but about myself, and I knew that they must had one. They seemed to know everything.

The speaker announced that the train had arrived in Vaduz.

I had to force my hearing to understand what the speaker said. I could understand German very well, but I still had to push myself a little bit to hear the distorted sound from train speaker. Sometimes they still sounded like nonsense especially when my thought was somewhere else. I hurried turning off my laptop and put it in its case. I only had this laptop and a small traveling bag for this mission.

The mission didn't sound like something big either. I was simply assigned to retrieve the boy to the head quarter, but I had to see if his power was telepathy or empathy or perhaps even both of them. An empath would not do much for Eszet because all he could do was to feel, on the other hand, a telepath would be a good asset. A telepath could also plant some thoughts on people rather than merely reading them.

I met Thomas Sauer at the train station. He didn't seem to be surprised to see that I already knew his face. He didn't know mine. We exchange our formal "Wie geht's Ihnen? (1)" and then we headed to his car.

"Do you want to go first to your room?" he asked politely with flawless English.

"That could wait for later," I answered as I looked at my watch and saw that it was about three. My eyes closed and I saw that if we went straight there we might be able to talk to Dr. Raupe first before seeing Dr. Elmer who took care of the boy.

"Fine," he said again and the sceneries around me turned to some landscapes.

"Dr. Elmer is a friend of mine in the varsity," Sauer told, "I didn't know then that my master was a telepath, so I thought better to put him under someone I knew. But then came those telepathic signs, like he could tell what some patients in that asylum actually thought or felt."

I surely had already read all those evidence from the report, but I let that man talk. I didn't interfere him.

Thomas Sauer was a member of Eszet. He got to get involved to the organization when he was still studying in the university. He was a bright student and as soon as he was graduated, he got a job in Liebeskind's enterprises. The entrepreneur liked him so much that he gained trust so easily and in no longer than two years after he came, he already became his right hand man. He might have inherited the company if the old man had not found his lost daughter and her son.

The manwanted his company. Eszet wanted their telepath. It was a fair trade. Eszet would take the Liebeskind boy to Rosenkreuz and Sauer would get the company because the boy claimed to be incapable of handling the company, or maybe simply sentenced dead. Then after Sauer became the president of the company, he would have to support Eszet and Rosenkreuz financially from 20 of his income. That was a very good deal.

* * *

We came to a gate and Sauer had to talk to some intercom to tell who we were and what our business there was. The door opened automatically. I noticed that this soul asylum had a very good security system. They had video cameras everywhere and then there were infrared detectors on the fence. It didn't have guns and other things that were installed on the Eszet headquarter, but it was good enough.

The car stopped in front of the main building and we went in. A male doctor was already waiting. He was short and a bit bald above his temple, with curious green eyes. He served as one of Eszet's psychotherapist, although he never really knew what those agents had gone through. He would take care of this Liebeskind boy once he was assigned to.

"Wie geht's Ihnen, Herr. Crawford (2)?" he asked politely as he shook hands with me. In Eszet, age didn't matter much, what mattered was what your function was. A full agent was a little bit higher than support functions such as medics, technicians, and financer, although for the last one, Eszet never really showed that they were actually lower elements of the organization. People with money always wanted to be important.

"Gut(3)," I said, ignoring the fact that I was a bit worn off from sitting too long in the train and that I had to be contented of a piece of sandwich as my lunch and that actually I would rather lay myself in bed to drive away my exhaustion. But I wanted to take care of this telepath as soon as possible.

"Und Sie (4)?" I asked back, sounding all business and no play.

"Prima," he said, "Ich freue mich Ihnen zu treffen."(5)

I didn't say that I was also pleased to meet him, because I wasn't.

We went to his office and then we talked about the boy. He went through the evidence and said that there was no mistake that the boy had some special ability. He said it was more telepathy than empathy, because he could mention clearly, what was in those patients minds rather than simply saying if the patients were afraid, angry, or sad.

It was already arranged that as soon as I came to Liechtenstein that the boy would be taken under his care. I was supposed to watch over the boy and persuade him to come to the headquarter. If persuasion failed, I had to use force. Nobody stood on Eszet's way. Not even their prey.

Next, we walked to Dr. Elmer's room. He had just come back from a check on the boy I wanted to get. Sauer and this young doctor surely seemed to be well acquainted. They called by their first names, even though they always addressed each other to other persons by their Surnames. It was their way to be polite and to get away from familiarity in business, as I noticed.

Dr. Elmer didn't seem to like the idea of letting go his patient to another doctor, and I noticed that he didn't like me. I didn't know why, but I could see it clearly from the way he looked at me. It was not important though. He was just a supporting character. However, I knew that without him, we would not see the real person we wanted to see.

The young doctor took us to the patients' ward where the boy was kept. We came to a room, where I saw him lay down in his bed, attached to some infusion. Dr. Elmer told us that he still wanted the boy to get some tranquilizer because the substance seemed to make the symptoms of hearing voices lower.

I looked at the fragile figure on the bed. I dislike delicate things, and this one sure seemed to be one. He didn't look too different from the pictures I saw in my files. He was only a little bit skinnier. His hair fell around his face, framing one long face with pointed chin, high cheekbones and two straight lines of his closing eyes. On second thought, I decided that this person seemed totally different from some I saw in the files. He was too delicate.

Dr. Raupe beckoned me to come closer and I walked to the bed.

He said, "We will move him to one of the private bungalows in the garden."

I gave a nod of agreement. The use of private bungalows was one good. We could do anything to him without arousing such suspicions. I knew that this old man would want to put some tests to the boy, making sure about the powers that he had. Eszet would want to know for the most part before he was moved to Rosenkreuz.

I listened to the doctor patiently. The details about his therapies were none of my concern. All I needed to do was to retrieve the boy, nothing more. Suddenly I saw the eyes of the boy opened. He was saying something, but I couldn't hear. My gift of Sight never allowed me to hear anything. It would happen in a few moments now.

"He's gaining consciousness," I said just before his fingers twitched and he stirred a little.

"Still sharp as usual, aren't you, Mr. Crawford?" Dr. Raupe smiled.

We went silent to watch the boy stirred. Dr. Elmer was still standing at the door. He was just waiting there because the patient was no longer his responsibility, but as he heard that the boy gained consciousness, he straightened his back.

"… Schuld..." (6) the boy voiced as his eyes began to open slowly, the orbs turned towards me.

"… bin Schuldig…. 'st du's…?" (7)

For a moment, I thought he was introducing himself, as the person he was claiming to be, but then I noticed that he was talking to someone. Me, perhaps. I saw the photograph of the boy he killed, he also had black hair, and his skin was rather dark. Perhaps he mistook me for the boy.

"Nö, bin ich es nicht (8)," I said calmly, a bit surprised that I was saying it in a rather comforting way.

Suddenly he chuckled, though still in a weak voice, and said, "Du kannst mir Schuldig nennen. Mir ist egal." (9)

I could hear Dr. Elmer snorted at the point.

The boy had strong mind power. He could breach my barrier and read my surface even without effort. I had to take care of this. This was the first time I could be penetrated and I didn't even notice it. But one more thing that was more important, to teach this boy that I was no laughing stock.

* * *

Dr. Raupe started his tests a few days after the boy was moved to the bungalow. I visited him everyday, but most of the time I was just standing at the doorsill while Dr. Raupe made a conversation with him. On the first session, he asked the doctor if it was all right that a third person also present. He said it was against his right for privacy.

I had to keep note that the boy was rather sharp and critical. Maybe if one day I could make my own team, I would not want to have him with me. I didn't like anyone who asked me over anything.

The doctor asked if I should leave, but then he said that it was actually all right. He only wanted to bother me, but it was nothing personal.

After the session was over, the doctor left me alone with the boy. I was supposed to talk him out to come with me. As far as I knew, people that came to Rosenkreuz willingly would survive a better chance than those who were dragged there. Like I care if he survived.

I was about to open my mouth to speak when he suddenly asked me with his tired voice.

"You're different from the others," he said with very fluent English, though still with a tinge of German accent, "You are more silent than them."

More silent? Does that mean I still voice something?-

He nodded, eyes looking at me, revealing two turquoise jewels. Correction, he was not as fragile as he looked like when he was sleeping. He could look at me straight to the eyes without any fear. In fact, I began to feel his strength.

"Yes, I am more silent than most people," I said with confidence.

He looked at me as if he wanted more explanation.

I took off my glasses and started to wipe it with lens paper.

"Liebeskind," I said, I always used family name to address anyone to avoid any close relationship.

Before I could continue my sentence, he cut through.

"You can call me Schuldig if you want to," he said, a naughty smirk curled on his lips.

I gave him a glare, but he only looked back at me.

"Anyway, Schuldig, or whoever you are," I said indifferently, "I'm here to offer you a way to shut those voices from your mind."

"Death?" he snorted.

"No," I said, "A control over it."

"And what do you have in return?" he asked, "No, wait, I already know. Twenty percent of Tomi's income? A power to abuse?"

He turned his back to me, "Your superiors would have them. But what would you have, Mr. Brad Crawford?" He tilted his head and then shook it, "Nothing. Or, well, if you succeeded to bring me there, at least you don't have to suffer anything. I didn't know what they would do to you, but I sure know you dread it."

He must have heard from Dr. Raupe's head. The doctor had pretty good barrier for normal person, but if the boy could breach me, then going into Dr. Raupe's head wouldn't be a big problem for him.

"I know when I have to bark, I know when I have to bite," I said.

"And suppose I say I wouldn't want to go?" he asked as he lazily walked across the room and took some cookies from the cookie jar. Dr. Elmer put the cookies there. The young doctor came from time to time to this room, even though the boy was no longer his patients. But he always came on visiting hours so nobody could stop him.

"I will do it with force," I said, feeling the gun in its holder against my body.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and then he walked to me.

"You don't have anything to force me with. I have nothing left. You cannot threaten me. Not even with your gun," he said, "No, I didn't hear it in my head about the gun, but I can see it from here. My eyesight is not as poor as yours."

"How about your Dr. Elmer?"

"Kill him if you want to. That only makes him better. He always wanted to die anyway. And to die to defend somebody would be a nice ending for him."

I lifted an eyebrow, wondering how the boy could say that calmly.

"I killed my mother," he said.

All I knew was that his mother died in a car accident.

"I purposely crossed the street because I knew that the car wouldn't have enough time to hit the brake."

He smiled.

Maybe I was wrong, but that smile was far from evil.

"I killed my grandfather."

All I knew was that his grandfather died from heart attack.

"Do you know that his heart was weak. It's so easy to make it fail."

I knew it from the report I read, but I didn't know that it was murder.

"And Schuld…." His voice trailed off.

He looked up to see my eyes.

"You reminded me of him," he said.

"Really?" I asked him coldly.

He gave a nod.

"But then," he said as he heaved a sigh, "I might come with you without resistance."

"And what would you gain?" I asked. He asked to bargain, I gave him one.

My sight suddenly went blank as I saw him in the halls of Rosenkreuz. I knew he would come anyway.

"Nothing," he said, making me taken a back.

"Nothing?" I asked back, something I shouldn't have asked.

"You don't have anything to offer me anyway," he said, "Not even the silence," he paused, "Let me tell you something," he moved to his bed and sat there, "I have lived with these voices for my whole life. Wouldn't it be strange if I suddenly have myself shut alone? I have no interest in whatsoever power that you have. It's not my problem. You can kill me for sure, if I refuse. I'd be dead, so I wouldn't suffer any consequences. But you, Mr. Crawford, you would suffer the consequences from that organization."

"True," I said, "But my safety is not your concern anyway."

"You're wrong," he said lightly, "it is my concern."

But he didn't explain why.

"I will go with you," he said again, "I've thought of that the first time I saw you."

* * *

He never told me why he had decided on that ever since he saw me. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to get involved personally with this boy. He stayed in that bungalow for three weeks before we moved to Rosenkreuz. I visited him everyday although I hardly ever talked.

Surely, this Schuldig was a talkative person. He commented over almost anything. I didn't know which one of the faces he showed to us was the real one, the obedient patient to Dr. Raupe, the nice and innocent teenager to Dr. Elmer, or this ignorant and hardheaded boy to me. I didn't inquire him. I didn't want to know.

After the tests were over, we moved out from the hospital. It was played as if Schuldig was transferred to another doctor because he was stable enough and didn't need to stay in an asylum anymore.

The boy only said goodbye to Dr. Elmer. He didn't even regard Thomas Sauer as the man dropped us at the train station. The only thing he told the man was not to let the company fall apart and that it still belong to him no matter what. He didn't say he wanted any money though, but I knew he still owned one account to his name from the share he had.

**- to be continued to chapter 5 -

* * *

**

Translation:

(1) "Wie geht's Ihnen?" "How do you do?"

(2) "Wie geht's Ihnen, Herr. Crawford?" "How do you do, Mr. Crawford?"

(3) "Gut." "Good"

(4) "Und Sie?" "And you?"

(5) "Prima. Ich freue mich Ihnen zu treffen." "Wonderful. I'm pleased to meet you."

(6) "… Schuld..." actually, he was mumbling a name, calling Schuld, which probably all of you already know, means guilt.

(7) "… bin Schuldig…. 'st du's…?" at this moment he was actually meaning to say that he's guilty… the translation combined with the number (6) would be, "Schuld, ich bin Schuldig…. Bist du es?" "Schuld, I'm guilty…. Is that you?"

(8) "Nö, bin ich es nicht." "No. I'm not him."

(9) "Du kannst mir Schuldig nennen. Mir ist egal." "You can call men Schuldig. It doesn't matter."

Well, actually I first thought of not making any translation at all… I just read Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, I was so pissed of the massive use of French there, and I couldn't understand the language. Well, if I were to live in that time, people might see me as uneducated… but well, never mind…. I love that book very much…. Levin is such a hunk!

Finally, one from a non-OC point of view… uh, well, aside from that little Schuldig at the first chapter. Should you think that Brad is a bit OOC, please tell me... maybe i need some psycological insights about the man... but keep in mind that it's 7 years before Kapitel began.

So? Comments? Flames? Or just say "Hi"? Simply say it in your review…. Thank you for reading this far.


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